Why I'm Not Here
by butterspwnslol
Summary: Tragedy strikes in South Park; how do the characters cope? Summary sucks! Written in first person narrative. Rated T for language, death, sex, and use of alcohol. R&R or I'll kick you squah in the nuts! XP Part 2 up, expect rating to change to M in future
1. Part 1

**A/N: **

**Goddamn it's been a while since I last updated my profile, but I've made some changes. I've changed my name from bartlyokosimpson to butterspwnslol, deleted two of my stories and kept one (haven't seen C:L in a while, but I might get around to it so something to look forward to), so if I get any ideas I'll try to update. I've taken a great liking to South Park, and instead of doing lame-ass romance stories, I've decided to take a crack at drama and tragedy (although it won't be very depressing since I'm still as crappy a writer as ever), but whatever, it's worth a try right? It's kind of a stream-of-consciousness/first person writing style investigating a tragic event in South Park history and how all the S/P characters (who are aged to 17 and in High School) are coping. R&R or I'll cry :( !**

**-butterspwnslol-**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK  
**

_**March 18**__**th**__**, 2016**_

Through the doors I hear them crying. I hear them all crying, their tears splashing against the ground and now I feel like crying too. She was not my best friend, nor a close friend, but I wish I could talk to her now more than anyone; she always comforts me when I'm upset. That's the kind of person she is: Kind, caring, compassionate, and friendly to everyone. She's always been especially kind to me when I'm down. She's especially smart and knows just what to say to make me feel better. I wish I knew her better. She seems like the type of person one would enjoy spending time with. She will be missed.

I enter the room and immediately my depression intensifies; a myriad of people wearing nothing but black clothing chat amongst each other and cry simultaneously. My heart sinks as I walk around the seated mourners and head to the front of the room. A tear rolls down my cheek as I lightly sob; I see her. Bouquets of flowers surround her; her mahogany casket would normally compliment her pleasing complexion; now her face looks pale and without feeling. She looks empty.

Some more tears roll down my face, and I decide to take a seat. I look just like everyone else in the crowd; dark depressing clothing with a pale teary face. The only person who stood out I ended up sitting next to. He smelled like salt and cheap cologne. His face was especially red and tears seemed to continuously stream from his eyes (I only saw his left eye since I was sitting to his left, but I assumed they came from both). They were the loves of each others' lives, and I feel especially bad for him. To have her taken from him in a cruel act of God- I can only empathize. I decide to greet the poor boy.

"Hello Stan," I say to him. He looks at me and blinks twice.

"Oh." He sniffs. "Hello Butters. It's nice to see you here today. I'm sure she would be happy to know that you were here to say goodbye to her."

"Well, I didn't know her very well but she was always a nice person. Whenever she heard crying from the boy's bathroom, she always came in to comfort me," (she knew it was always me because I was the only boy who was sensitive enough to cry in school) "even if it made her late for class, and I know that if something happened to me, she would be the first person I would want to talk to."

"Well," he says "whatever your reasons are, I'm glad you're here. It's nice to see a friend here today."

"Eric, Kyle, and Kenny aren't here?"

"Kyle's a little late, he already called. The fat-ass isn't here, and I don't think he'll come until the reception so he can eat. Kenny died yesterday, but he probably won't make it in time for the eulogy.

"Oh. Well we can keep talking until one of them arrives."

"Thanks, Butters. It's always nice to have someone to comfort you when you're depressed."

Comfort. It reminds me of her. She was not my best friend, nor a close friend, but she would comfort me. I feel tears coming on the more I think of her. Her compassionate nature, her kind soul, and her tragic end; it brings me to tears. I tell him I need some fresh air and decide to step out of the building for a little while.

**Well, that's the end to Part 1 of **_**Why I'm Not Here. **_**I don't really have a whole lot to say except that damn is it short. You'd be surprised to learn that this entire thing took me 2 and a half hours to write :O ! Also if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes here (particularly "your" in place of "you're" which I caught two instances of and edited by myself), please tell me so I may fix them. Those kind of errors annoy the hell out of me :( so make sure to tell me if you notice them. Don't forget to leave a review about what you thought of the first part of the story.**

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	2. Part 2

**Part 2 up of **_**Why I'm Not Here**_** up! I don't really know what to say except that I really have no idea just how long this is going to be. Or what it's about. Well, we'll see when it's finished, but I think it will still be short, like last time; writing can become such a tedious job. Oh well. Also, don't be surprised if the story rating changes to M in the future. A lot of VERY coarse language ahead. You better put me on your update list so you don't forget :P. Seriously. PUT ME ON YOUR UPDATE LIST BITCH! :) Special thanks to omg.u.killed.kenny for reviewing my story. I really appreciate your thoughts and hope you continue leaving reviews. Anyway here's the usual disclaimer and me shamelessly begging for your reviews XP. **

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**-butterspwnslol-**

_**March 18**__**th**__**, 2016**_

The clock strikes five; music begins to sound from my digital clock radio and awakens me. My eyes refuse to open; I roll over to hit the snooze alarm. I accidentally roll off my bed and my elbow hits the floor. Pain radiates to the rest of my body, but I ignore it to get ready for school today. I groggily walk downstairs to the kitchen and pour myself some cereal; I return upstairs to the shower. I brush my teeth and get dressed; I walk outside and walk to the bus stop; Stan, Cartman, and Kenny are already there. I say "hello" to all of them and stand next to Kenny. They all greet me back, except for Cartman who calls me "Jew-fag." I ignore his comment.

"Hey, dude, did you study for the bio test today?" Stan asks me.

"Yeah, did you?"

"No," he replies. "Who cares about that bullshit? When are we ever going to need to know about cells and photosynthesis and all that other crap in the real world?"

"Never, I guess…"

"School's pretty much useless in the real world," Cartman says. "There's only one thing that anyone needs to know to be okay in life; Jews are greedy, selfish bastards who will swindle us out of all our money."

"Shut up you fat retard!" I angrily shout in response. Cartman is such a racist asshole. I wish he would die an intensely painful death every other week like Kenny. Asshole.

"So guys, the rest of my family is going to my aunt's house in Denver tonight for her birthday. All night. Wanna come over to my house get blotto and have some fun?" Kenny says _where was he_

"All right, I've nothing better to do," Stan says.

"All right, I'll go as long as Jew-fag isn't invited," Cartman says. We all glare at him.

"Well, lucky for you, I can't go. I have a report to do for my art history class," I say. Cartman begins to dance around.

"Cartman, stop it," Kenny hisses. He turns towards me. "Dude, you should come, it'll be fun."

"I really can't," I say. "This is a big report. I have to find an artist who influenced a certain artistic style and- wait, why aren't you going?" I ask

"Oh, my parents don't want to travel with me 'cause they think I'll cause a car crash or something."

"Oh," I say. "Well, I still can't go, this report is huge."

"Come on Kyle, this might be the only time we can get wasted all month," Stan says to me. "And it's Friday, you have the whole weekend to do that paper."

"Dude, I can't. It'll take forever to find someone I want to write about, all the facts, and write a paper. I won't have time."

"Fine," Cartman says. "It'll be better without you, Jew." I hit him on the arm, and he cries "Owww! Kyle! Owwww! Owwwwwwwwwwww!"

The bus finally arrives and we board. Soon, we're at the school. We all walk into the building together. We split up as we go further down the hall. Stan and Cartman go to the northern end of the building (their lockers are very close to each other). Kenny goes to the east end of the school, and I go up onto the second floor. I deposit a few textbooks and take out a few from my locker and then head to my homeroom and first hour: probability and statistics. I sit in my assigned seat between Heidi Turner and Clyde Donovan. The bell rings, announcing the start of class. The school news comes on, and as usual, there's nothing to report except for the weather; sunny all week. Then an hour of class passes as though in an instant (it seems to pass a lot faster when you're half asleep through it).

French, art history, and modern literature pass, almost as fast, and finally it's lunch. I wait in the strangely short queue a couple minutes, place a hamburger on my lunch tray, and pay the lunch lady. I sit down at a table with Clyde, Craig, Butters, Tweek, Token, and Jason. (Cartman, Stan, and Kenny all have lunch right after third period; I have it after fourth).

"Hey Kyle!" Butters enthusiastically greets me. I wave to him and sit down next to him and across from Token.

"So guys, did you hear about the catfight earlier today?" Craig questions us.

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," Token says. "I heard that Wendy Testaburger and Bebe Stevens got into a fight and were both suspended today.

"Yeah, I saw that today," Jason says. "Bebe made some bitchy comment to Wendy about something, and Wendy bitchslapped her right in front of everybody, and Bebe jumped on her."_ maybe that has something to do with this_ Clyde begins drooling. "Bebe's left boob popped out of her skimpy little shirt. It was _glorious! _It was pretty much average sized, but her nipple was right in the middle-"

"You don't have to explain this part," Craig explains. "It's not like every single boy in this school hasn't seen Bebe's boobs before."

"Yeah," Jason says, "I guess you're right. Is there anyone in this school who _hasn't _slept with Bebe before?" I begin to blush furiously. _I _was still a virgin, thank you very much, and intended it to be that way until I found someone I really cared about. But _they _didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, Bebe's such a horny slut, I bet she'd even let Butters give her a lay," I say. A long pause occurs. The blush on my face must be noticeable, because Clyde asks me "you haven't had sex with her?" My blush intensifies.

"DUDE!" Token, Craig, and Clyde shout.

"Dude, tell me you've had sex with ONE woman," Jason says. I look away and (again) blush.

"DUUUUUDE!" they shout again.

Butters pats my shoulder. "Don't worry Kyle. The closest thing to sex I've ever had was when I saw a guy sitting in the audience at my dance recital ogling me in my tights." A _very _awkward pause occurs.

"Yeah…" Craig starts, a look of intense shock on his face "ya know, I hear people saying that abstinence is the new sex." I have no idea what he means (I don't think he does either).

"Ah! Abstinence! It's too much pressure!" Tweek shouts. I finish lunch in total silence and walk upstairs to fifth period world history. My favorite class, for the simple reason that it's the only period I have with Stan. We both arrive at the class shortly before the bell rings.

"Hey, dude, how was the bio exam?" I ask him.

"It was really, really tough," he responds. "I don't think I did too well. But you studied, so you'll probably do better than I did."

"Maybe…"

We open the door and sit down at our desks (Stan sits behind me). We talk a little more about the test and the bell rings. The teacher comes to the front of the class and begins lecturing about World War II.

"Psssst," I hear from behind me.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"Hey, are you sure you won't come to Kenny's tonight?" he asks. Ugh.

"For the last fucking time I can't. I have that paper-"

"Fuck the paper. You can work on it Saturday or Sunday. Come on, get smashed with Kenny, Cartman, and I."

"Ugh…fine, if it will keep you all off of my back, then I'll go."

"Good. It'll be fun."

"Kyle! Stan! Could you please, stop talking during my lecture?" our teacher exclaims.

"Sorry," we simultaneously say. She continues with her lecture. I hear Stan utter "stupid bitch" under his breath.

Fifth hour ends and sixth hour begins. I quickly finish my test and am the first one done. I lay my head down and wait until school finishes. Finally, when the bell rings, I quickly grab my things from my locker and head out to the bus. The first thing I do when I call home is call Kenny.

"Hello," I hear him say. I tell him I'm going to be at his house tonight. "Okay," he says. "See you tonight at about 8:30."

"Okay, bye." I hang up. I decide to get a start on the paper I'm so concerned about. Unfortunately, after about two hours of searching I come up with nothing. I decide to postpone my work until tomorrow like Stan suggested. Stan. Maybe I should call him and see if we can walk to Kenny's together. Kenny's neighborhood isn't really a safe place to walk by yourself at night. I pick up the phone and dial his house. No answer. I dial again. Still no answer. I decide to wait a little while before calling him back. I decide to watch TV for a few hours and call him back again. Still no answer. I continue watching television for another hour and a half. Again, Stan doesn't pick up. I'm really fucking pissed now. Whatever, I can walk to Kenny's house myself. Goddamn I hate Stan right now. Asshole. I tell my mom I'm going over to Kenny's to study for my history exam and leave.

It's about 8 o'clock. I walk down the near empty street. I've left for Kenny's house about five minutes ago so we can (finally) break into Mr. McCormick's scotch stash and maybe have a little fun _where was he._ The sky is dotted with bright, tiny stars. To my right, cars glide down the paved roadway; to my left, the lampposts light my way. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Walking is such a menial task; maybe this isn't the best idea. I had my license suspended for a DUI a month ago. But since I can't drive right now, I have no reason _not _to be under the influence. I continue forward down the street.

About fifteen minutes later, I cross the train tracks and arrive at Kenny's place. I knock and I'm surprised when Cartman opens the door. He glares at me

"What the hell are you doing here Jew-fag?" he interrogates.

"Shut the fuck up, fat-tits!" I yell at him. I push him out of the way, and I enter the living room to find Kenny sitting on the couch with his old, worn television turned on. I can faintly see the outlines of two nude forms moving on television; their moans echo through the tiny green space. I look around me. The entire room is filthy; clothes are strewn everywhere; multiple spider webs hang in corners of the wall; even the mouse refuses to leave its hole for food. On the dusty coffee table, a large stack of pornographic magazines and DVD's lay next to some red plastic cups and two tall bottles of scotch. I greet Kenny, and Cartman and I take a seat on the couch. Stan hasn't arrived yet.

"Hey Kyle," Kenny says to me. "Glad you're here. This is gonna be one hell of a night. Cartman and I have already started viewing one of my newest 'art films.' It's supposed to be really hot. It's the newest DVD in the _Backdoor Sluts _series. Number 39 I think." He stares at the closed front door. "Did Stan come with you?"

"No, but it's weird. I called him like five times to see if we could walk here together." I hear Cartman utter "fags"under his breath. I decide it best to ignore him for now. "Do either of you know if he's coming? Did he call either of you?" They both shake their heads.

"Should we wait for him?" Kenny asks.

"Fuck Stan," Cartman suggests. "Let's just start already."

"Come on Cartman, we can wait I say." God, what an asshole. We agree to wait for Stan and just watch the porno on Kenny's half-broken television set. God, Kenny was right, this is hot! Anyway, after watching the film for forty-five minutes (it seemed like ten), we decide that Stan isn't actually coming.

"Well, I guess well just have to start without your faggy little boyfriend," Cartman says to me.

"Fuck off fat-ass," I retort. "But I think he's right. We should start."

"So, what do you guys want to do?" Kenny coyly asks.

As if in an instant, I realize I'm bankrupt in Monopoly.

"Ha!" Cartman triumphantly yells at me. "Pak Plas! Pah up Jew!" His speech is slightly slurred, as are Kenny's and mine. Jesus I drank a lot. I reluctantly hand him what I have left of my money and growl. "You looz bicch! Kenny's super paur and eben he had some money left ya griddy Jew-bastar!" Both Kenny and I scowl at him.

The bright lamps blind me. The din of the car passing gives me a headache. I can't see straight. I don't know where I am right now but I know I need to go home. My migraine distracts me from the footsteps of the person walking towards me. I don't notice her approaching me from the other end of the sidewalk until the distance between us minimizes. It's Wendy. I look up and stare at her while walking. We collide.

"Ow!" She is bumps into me and falls down. She is startled by my presence and we fall down. She gets up and helps me to my feet. "Oh. Hello Kyle," she says. She seems depressed about something _that must be why she's here and I'm here_

I am starting to be able to keep my slurring under control as I converse with her, but not completely. I'm obviously still drunk, and I have trouble restraining my speech. "Wendy, you know where Stan is? We was goin to Kenny's house for… something I forget, and I was goin ask if he could walk. With me. I called him a few times but he won't pick up."

She looks away from me. "I- I don't know. I'm sorry." She observes me for a moment. "Are you drunk?"

"Are you stupid?" I giggle, but she appears to be glaring at me. "So tell me the truth." I stumble over my words a little. "Were you or were you nawt 'aving sex with Stanny and did joo juss lie to me aboot it?" Her mood completely changes. She begins to cry a little. I go over and hug her front. She continues to cry a little.

"Wendy, what's wong?" I giggle at my error in speech.

"Oh, nothing, no I'm fine," she doubtfully assures me. She wipes her face and looks straight at me. "I just need to get home and go to bed. I'm pretty tired right now." She walks right past me. I stutter the words "Bye bye" to her and she waves to me in the distance.

"Kyle! What the hell were you doing drinking at Kenny's house?" my mom exclaims. "You told me you were studying for a history exam!" God my head hurts. "I am going to have a talk with Kenny's mother about this! Tomorrow we're going to have a long talk too! I don't know what you were thinking! I mean I thought you were smarter than that! I don't know what's wrong with you!" I start to go upstairs when I've had enough of her bitching, despite her still yelling at me. I've got a splitting headache and decide to go to my room. My head hurts a lot.

I look at my watch and realize I'm not late yet. Me and my family exit the car and walk up building. I see Butters outside. He is crying. My family heads in and I talk with Butters for a couple minutes, and try to cheer him up. For some reason, comforting him makes him cry even harder. We walk into the building together and he takes a seat next to Stan who is crying even harder than Butters. I give him a hug, tell him it's okay and sit down by them. I look up to the front of the room and see Wendy. And it all comes back to me…

That was my recollection of the day that I last saw Wendy while she was alive. Wendy may not have meant a whole lot to me but she meant a hell of a lot to my best friend. Speaking of which, where was he that night? I don't know how I remember anything after we started drinking Kenny's scotch. I must've drank a lot because I don't remember much past Monopoly, although I remember that we started the drinking before the game, so I don't know if we watched porn or anything happened before we started playing. My mom filled me in on some of the gaps that I didn't remember. After Wendy and I met on the street, Officer Barbrady found me wandering the streets. He took me into the police station and gave me a breathalyzer. My BAC was .08. He took me home and told my mother what had happened. I remember her yelling at me. She told me I had passed out in the hallway on the way to my room. I remember the hangover. To say the least, it was very unpleasant. I threw up a lot that day! It got a lot worse when my mom and dad had told me that Wendy had died. I cried… a lot. I was so upset (and sick), that I decided against writing my art history paper at all. I tried calling Stan see if we could talk about what happened, but he still wouldn't pick up.

Still I find it odd that all of a sudden I remember my final conversation with Wendy so vividly. I was really smashed that night; I find it odd that I remember anything at all. It may be that seeing her body in the casket made me remember what I saw that night. I've heard the senses can stimulate that sort of "lost memory" thing but I don't remember where. Her body must have moved those particular memories into my conscious mind. It chills me to the bone thinking about that conversation. I'd like to forget it, but I can't and never will. We can never forget what we don't want to remember.

**Well, I guess that's pretty much it for this chapter. It took FOREVER to write. I'm also lazy so it took me forever to actually _start_ writing. Also, it took really long because the nighttime part was what I did first, and then I reordered the events (it was originally Wendy, then Kenny's house, but my conclusion didn't really make any sense so I went back and changed it), then I added the daytime because it seemed too short and cleaned it up. :O Any errors in grammar, spelling, or otherwise, please contact me. Please? Be sure to read and review. :)**

**-butterpwnslol- **


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